I Just Wanted a Peaceful Life… So Why Do Heroes Worship Me?

The morning fog clung to the sanctuary like silk draped over memory. Light filtered through it in pale shafts, catching on dew-beaded leaves and the steam curling from Kreg's third tray of honeybread.

Rei sat at the tea table, not for meditation or defense or scheming—just tea.

Auron stumbled into the kitchen, yawning and covered in ink. "Is it still morning?"

"Barely," Rei replied, without looking up.

The boy dropped into the seat opposite him and stared blearily into his cup. "I dreamed the wards were talking to me. Like, full conversations. One of them accused me of drawing its lines backward and demanded an apology."

"Did you give it one?"

"I offered it honeybread."

"That's a fair trade," Rei said, and sipped.

The rhythm had returned, in a way. The pulse of the sanctuary felt balanced again. Not untouched, not untouched—but aware. Awake. Like something that had flinched once and was now choosing to keep its eyes open.

Rei welcomed it.

Because the last few weeks had taught him something he hadn't wanted to admit: peace isn't just something you maintain. It's something you rebuild, constantly, with your own hands.

And today, those hands were needed.

"Fluff's missing again," Kreg called from the bakery counter, voice muffled by a spoon in his mouth. "I checked the roof. And the soup pot. He's not in either."

"He's in the attic," Ellyn replied from behind a stack of ledger books. "He's been nesting in the ribbon box since yesterday."

"Nesting?"

"He's made a throne."

Rei set his teacup down.

"A throne?" Auron asked, blinking.

"With a stick scepter. He looks pleased with himself," Ellyn added, flipping a page.

Rei rose from the table and sighed.

Sure enough, when he opened the attic hatch, Fluff was perched in the middle of a makeshift platform of woven ribbons, tiny trinkets, and what suspiciously looked like one of Kreg's spatulas. A small wooden spoon lay at his side like a royal staff.

He blinked once at Rei. Unapologetic.

"You're not a king," Rei said flatly.

Fluff tilted his head.

"You're not even a duke."

Blink.

"But I'll allow it. Just don't declare war on the broom closet."

Fluff slowly lowered the spoon and curled his tail around it.

Rei descended the ladder and closed the hatch.

Somewhere behind him, Auron was laughing. Really laughing. A sound rare and full.

It echoed through the sanctuary like a crack in the tension that had coiled around them for too long.

By midday, the sanctuary was lively. A caravan of wandering apprentices stopped by, offering fresh ink for a lesson in tea blending. Kreg taught them how to make eggless muffins with wildfruit. Ellyn cornered a sword-dancer and bartered two wards and a foot massage in exchange for a few classified alchemical ingredients.

Rei watched it all unfold from the shade of the plum tree, eyes soft.

It wasn't perfect.

It wasn't unthreatened.

But it was real.

He stood to check the north gate—an old habit—and paused when he saw a figure approaching. Not masked. Not cloaked. Just tall, sun-worn, and dressed in the muted brown robes of a traveling herbalist.

The man bowed low.

"Apologies for the intrusion," he said. "I heard this place offers sanctuary. My beast is... unwell."

Behind him, a small creature whimpered. A bird-cat hybrid, with mismatched wings and a fevered look.

Rei stepped forward and crouched, placing a hand gently on its flank.

It trembled—but did not pull away.

"This one's been bound to two conflicting ley-tethers," Rei murmured. "Forced merging. Someone was experimenting."

"I thought it was just born... strange," the herbalist said, shame painting his voice.

"No," Rei said, lifting the creature carefully. "But it can be unmade. Not in a bad way. In the way nature wanted, before someone interrupted it."

He carried the creature inside.

Auron prepared the basin. Ellyn readied the sedatives. Kreg brought towels and humming.

Together, they worked. Quietly. Precisely.

And when the creature finally slept, untwisted and at ease, Rei sat beside it.

"You're safe," he whispered. "Not because the world is kind. But because some places choose to be."

Later that night, as the lanterns burned low and laughter still lingered in the rafters, Rei stood once more beneath the stars.

They didn't shift tonight.

No bells rang from afar.

But something inside him finally... settled.

He had rebuilt peace.

Not fully.

Not forever.

But enough.

Just enough to last through the night.

And sometimes, that was all anyone ever needed.